Resolve
by Percie Jean
Summary: Four times Davey regretted saying something, and one time he didn't.


**A/N:** Davey is characterized as a persuasive talker who uses his words to inspire others. Despite this, he seems to struggle with knowing what to say, and is often reluctant to speak. I got to thinking about what might have been behind this characterization, what might have affected and shaped Davey to cause him to have this kind of love/hate relationship with his trademark wordiness. And this is what I came up with. Thanks for reading, and please let me know what you think!

**Disclaimer: **This is a non-commercial work of fanfiction. Any recognizable characters from _Newsies _belong to Disney and not to me.

* * *

1.

He was four when a visiting aunt asked him curiously about what he was reading. David looked up shyly from the book he'd been perusing (he couldn't actually read all of the words yet), and told her that it was a book about reptiles.

His aunt seemed intrigued, so he showed her pictures of the different classifications and explained to her what he'd learned about reptile habitats, feeding preferences, and defense mechanisms. He was just getting to his favorite part of the book (the snake section) when he realized that his aunt had wandered off to the kitchen and was talking to his mother...about him.

"Esther, that boy's a regular chatterbox; I've never heard a little one jabber on so! How on earth do you put up with it?"

It was then that David realized the subject of reptiles was not as riveting for others as it might have been for him, and that going on and on about one's interest did not always endear you to folks. When his family moved apartments years later, the reptile book was left behind in a box of donations.

* * *

2.

He was eight when he saw a particularly good-looking glass shooter in the store display case and, without thinking, pleaded with his father to buy it.

"David," his father said tiredly, "you know we can't afford that. Remember what I told you? You need to be a big boy now. Think about your brother." Little Les had been born only a week ago, and there had been some complications. "With all of the doctor's visits and your mother needing to stay off her feet, money is tight as it is without thinking about your marble collection."

David ducked his head, embarrassed at having forgotten something his father had told him only a few days ago. Of course he should have remembered. It was selfish of him to be asking for something so superfluous when his father was already worried about where they were going to come up with the money. So he stammered out an apology, and promised he wouldn't make such a gratuitous request again.

* * *

3.

He was twelve when he had his heart broken for the first time.

"You're a nice boy, David, but honestly, I don't think you're _my _kind of boy."

He'd asked her what she'd meant, and she'd given a vague explanation about his "big words" and not understanding half the things he said. He was a nice boy, she'd reiterated (perhaps a bit guiltily), a very nice boy. He just wasn't for her. He'd nodded, silently accepting her assessment, but struggling to make sense of it.

He decided that sometimes it wasn't beneficial to give voice to his feelings. And he vowed to himself that he would never, ever, in a million years tell another girl how he felt about her.

(He would break that promise. But that is a story for another time).

* * *

4.

He was sixteen when he made the mistake of speaking out in class.

He'd known, almost as soon as the words left his mouth, that his opinion would be an unpopular one (a sufficient number of his classmates had shared their thoughts for him to have little doubt of where their sympathies lay). But conviction, much to his surprise, overcame cowardice.

His comments were met with stares of disbelief and even a few baleful scowls. As soon as he was done speaking, an army of eager voices began attacking his assertions, and he shrank back into his seat, reminded again of exactly how out of place he was.

After class, his teacher commended him. "It's not easy to be the lone dissenter," he remarked, "but you stood your ground." Sensing his pupil's skepticism, he added gently, "You really do have a way with words, David. Combine that with the courage you showed today, and you're going to change the world, I know it."

It was a small consolation, and David still regretted sticking his neck out. But his teacher's words lessened the sting a little, and as he lay thinking in his bed that night, he found himself wondering if maybe they could be true.

* * *

5.

He was seventeen when he realized that sometimes the right words were exactly what you needed.

"Davey-" Jack urged, desperation clear in his voice, "tell them!"

Someone wanted him to speak. Someone _needed_ him to speak. He wasn't used to the feeling. But the words were coming to him, clear and purposeful and strong, and with them came a surge of confidence.

So Davey looked Jack in the eye and nodded, then opened his mouth.

"Now is the time to seize the day."


End file.
